


Two Dragons

by MsMiaMimi (Mc_Mimi)



Series: Kedging [2]
Category: Black Sails, Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: A BACKSTORY FOR JOHN SILVER, CAUSE I CAN'T SLEEP AT NIGHT, F/M, Historical AU, John You in Danger Gurlll, M/M, Multi, OT4, Past Child Abuse, Post Series, So many flashbacks, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:43:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mc_Mimi/pseuds/MsMiaMimi
Summary: The trees he likes well enough, siting under the shade of the biggest tree on their property, with a basket of bread and his beloved Thomas stretched out beside him.  It’s a miracle he didn’t think possible.  But here it is.Thanks to John Silver.A year ago he was still so angry.  But the memory of their last night, parting peacefully before the sun came up…John turns to James when his past comes back to threaten his future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Disclaimer: I in no way agree with Flint’s feelings about Pecans. I love pecans. I was born and raised in Savannah Ga and Pecans is life. I love my pecan trees. Pecans are great.

Pecans taste like dirt.

Two years later and they haven’t grown on James at all.  He’s made pies and desserts out of them.  Ate them whenever times are lean.  Shelled and sold them to keep busy.  But he can’t say he likes them.  The trees he likes well enough, siting under the shade of the biggest tree on their property, with a basket of bread and his beloved Thomas stretched out beside him.  It’s a miracle he didn’t think possible.  But here it is.

Thanks to John Silver.

A year ago he was still so angry.  But the memory of their last night, parting peacefully before the sun came up…

All the old anger has burned out of him.  He tries hard to find contentment.  He’s left with empty restlessness, that only years of discipline keeps in check.  Meanwhile the great European powers get closer and closer to _civilizing_ the entire world, despite most of it already being settled and lived in with people who disagree with them. 

The slow and quiet life has made them slow and quiet.  James has let his hair grow out to his shoulders again, and Thomas is getting soft around the middle.  Even now he is happily eating their one and _only_ peach.  James lets him, braving another handful of pecans.

John did indeed leave them a good life.  A handful of malcontent chickens, an ornery cow, and a creaky house full of rat holes.  It’s better than nothing, and James is thankful to have Thomas somewhere safe and whole.

They have privacy enough make love anywhere on their property, no neighbors for miles to either side.

And the townsfolk seem uninterested in them, as they are dully called the Calhoun _cousins_.

It could be a peaceful existence.  But Thomas has his ideas.  He wants to start a school for the natives, preparing them to negotiate more fair and balanced terms for their people.  Talk them into not selling their land, but standing their ground in a court where Europe is forced to meet them and playing by their own rules.  Without muskets and force.  Never mind the current war.

 It’s a dream, thinks James.  But he already fought ten years for one of Thomas’s dreams.  What’s the rest of life?

He’s just about to get up and fetch them some water when he hears hoofbeats up the road.

Thomas sits up and shields his eyes from the sun, “Who is that?  Are we expecting company?”

“No,” answer James.  He moves far ahead of Thomas to assess the newcomers.  Its only one coach.  A cabbie he recognizes from town and whoever his fare is, they’re hidden away inside the carriage.

The driver stops at the gate, tips his hat at James but doesn’t move to open the door.  Instead he reaches back, pulling a crutch down from amongst the things on top.  He knocks twice on the door on the side and hands it over.

James stands still waiting for the one person he never thought he see again, to step out. 

What he gets first, is an eyeful of baby and a very pregnant Maroon princess.

* * *

 

John has trimmed his beard and cut his hair.  His appearance is altogether more gentlemanly, he even wears a fine embroidered coat that doesn’t smell like sea salt.  He moves around on a new metal boot and his leg looks shorter…  James heart skips a beat, knowing John has lost more of his leg and he wasn’t there to support him.  But Madi was, and that is good and right.  Her hair is wrapped up and she’s dressed in a fine satin dress.  They make a handsome and respectable couple, easy to approach and inoffensive to puritan settlers in Savannah town. 

Thomas makes a fuss about greeting them and hosting the guests probably.  James pays the driver for bringing their luggage in the house and then stands in the doorway, dumbfounded.

Madi is perhaps only a few months pregnant but it shows.  And the baby in her arms is about a year old.  He can’t help smiling at them both, “You’ve been busy.”

Madi rolls her eyes, “Someone has to be.”  She narrows her eyes at John.  He stands quietly in a corner, leaning heavily on his crutch.

James wants to go and hug him but, it feels wrong somehow.  Not with him acting so closed off.  And wife and child sitting in front them.  He only offers his hand in greeting.  “John?  How have you been?”

“Miserable,” says Madi from the couch.  She balances her baby.  He’s fat and happy, blessed with rich, dark skin like his mother, big brown eyes, and crowned with springy chestnut ringlets.  The baby has a pair of peg teeth and grins happily as Thomas kneels before them.

Thomas pets the child on the knee while addressing Madi, “Surely no one can be miserable after fathering such a beautiful child.  Hello, little man!  Hello!”  The baby squeals and reaches out and Thomas lights up.  To think, James hadn’t realized his idealistic teacher would be fond of children.  “Oh, may I?”  He looks like he’ll burst if he doesn’t she yes.  Madi gives him a wide smile while she nods and off they are.  Thomas lifting the little boy and spinning him just enough to fill the room with baby giggles.

John holds himself separate from the reunion, eyes cast down.  Things appear tense between them, and James wonders if it’s his fault.  How much does Madi know of their last goodbye?  And does she resent them for it?

But just as the thought enters his head, Madi counters it.  “Come here, Captain.  I’m not standing up again for as long I can get away with it.  And you are too far away, my friend.”  She holds out her hand and James moves to join her on the moth-eaten couch.  She pulls him down into a hug.  “I’m very glad to see you alive and well.  And it true!”  She brushes back his hair, her nose scrunching up like a little rabbit, “You do have carrot-colored hair!  My mother sends her fond regards and a kiss,” she kisses his temple.  “Are you happy here?”

Thomas answers for him, “That’s a loaded question…”

James tries to ignore him.  But Madi doesn’t, “You aren’t happy?”

“I’m fine.  We’re fine.  And by the looks of things, you’re fine.  And growing finer.”

Madi pinches his thigh, chastising him, “If that’s your way of calling me fat…”

“No!” laughs James.  Thomas joins them, sitting on the other side of Madi and bouncing the baby on his knee.  “Er… what’s his name?”

“James,” says Madi with a proud look on her face.  “James Paolo Silver.”

The baby seems to agree with his name and shouts something intelligible while Thomas fauns over him.

John is taking the whole scene in from the doorway.  He looks ready to bolt and James can’t figure why.  Perhaps the cost of the war as already caught up to him.  “Won’t you join us John.”

“No,” says Madi.  “He means to leave us.  And take off into danger alone.  Again.”

James and Thomas mirror each other, looking between the couple with their mouths open.

“What happened?”

“It’s a personal matter,” says John.  “Just understand, that they mean everything to me.  And I need them safe.  Would you promise me to keep them here?  Don’t let anyone come near them…”

“John,” says Madi raising her hand, “I’m not living in isolation here.  You cannot lock me away from every danger. Any more than my mother or father could.”

James frowns, “I don’t understand.  Is it no longer safe on the island?  Have you been found?”

Madi shakes her head, “No.  John and Caesar provide for us.  The island is safe, for now at any rate.  But I fear time will expose us soon.  But that’s not our current problem.”  John stomps away before she continues and Madi sighs.  “And he won’t tell me.  _Please_ , James.  Something scares our Long John Silver, and he won’t tell me what it is… how can I protect myself if I don’t know what to look for?”

Thomas leans in, “But how do you know you need protection?  What’s going on?”

“I was attacked,” says Madi.  “I was on the beach with little Jim collecting shells a month ago, when pirate men tried to take us both.  I don’t normally go around armed amongst my own people, but I had cutlass that day.  I got away and ran back to camp and raised the alarm.  John caught one of the survivors and whatever he learned from him… he refuses to share it with me now.  All I know is it scares him enough to bring us here.”  She reaches out for James’s hand, “He means to leave me here while he faces some unknown threat, and I cannot bear it.  Please, James.  Don’t let him go alone.”

The baby gurgles at the mention of his name, answering his mother with a playful swat to her leg.  James pats the baby on top of his head and kisses Madi on the cheek, “I’ll find out what’s wrong.  Stay here with Thomas.  If there’s really a threat closing in, I trust you to defend him.”  He smirks before getting up.

Thomas rolls his eyes, “I can defend myself, you know.  I more than just rebellious talk and fine looks.”

“Of course, you are, darling.”  James winks at them before leaving the house.  He finds John has gone only as far as the chicken coop.  He sits precariously on a wood block, magically keeping balance while he throws feed at the hens.

“I suppose you were sent to interrogate me?”

“We’d like some answers, certainly.”

John keeps his eyes to the ground, “I told her about that night.  It may be why she forgave me at all.  She said she can’t fathom a reason a man would lie about not murdering and buggering his friend.  So we left it that.  But things haven’t been same between us.” 

“I’m sorry,” starts James.  He hates seeing them divided as much he hates being apart from them both.

“No,”says John finally looking up.  “It’s my own doing.  As you said.  I’ve bought this on myself.  But we still love each other, cause or no.  And I want to make things better for her and the people.  But I can’t risk losing them in any fight.  For any reason.  I simply won’t.  I’m a selfish bastard.”

James would disagree, knowing now the man now is very different from the first impression he made.  “No.  I think you give your whole heart to the people you love.  And the idea that you could lose them, is a terrifying thought.  I understand now that even I’m counted in this circle.”  He kneels by John and reaches out.

Holding hands with his former quartermaster is hardly the most risqué thing he’s ever done.  But his heart beats faster.  His skin blushes red, and James can’t help wanting to be closer.  Propriety keeps him at arm’s length.  John rubs his thumb circle around James’s knuckles, “I have missed you so much.  You are my beginning.”  He eyes look far away.  Whatever he’s not saying haunting his thoughts.

“Strange that a man with no tale to tell, should have a past so determined to catch up to him.”  James squeezes his hand, “Tell us what’s wrong, John.  And we can help you.”

John shakes his head, clearing before squeezing his eyes shut, “No, it’s not… I can handle it.  I will handle this and everything will be fine.”

James reaches up to squeeze his shoulder, “You’re not Atlas, John.  And no one expects you to be.  Please, let us take some of this weight.  Let _me_.  There’s no daylight between you and I, remember?”

John wraps his arms around himself, “No.  In this, I am alone.  I am always alone.  And I am always…”

“No,” says James.  “Just start at the beginning.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *forgetting is bad. John develops a long memory. He’s only nine years old here.

The city is too noisy.  The people are too fast.  And Padre Paolo’s legs are too long, he moves as fast as the crowd.  It’s a struggle for such a small boy to keep up with him. 

“Padre, can we stop?”

“John!”  The Father stops and turns with his face red angry.  “What did I say?!”

“English.”

“And,” says the priest twisting his arm, “What is your name?!”

“John.  John.  I’ve never been to Spain.  Or France.  My mother’s name is Purcell.  I am only John, and you are _Father_ Paul.”  He hadn’t forgotten the lesson drilled into his head on the ship ride over months ago.  But to be fair, they had stayed enclosed in the little church after they arrived.  They saw no one and no one saw them.  John couldn’t help but forget _some_ of his lesson.  But he enunciates everything perfectly.  There could be no mistaking him for anything but an English child.

Father Paul shakes him roughly, before steering him into a carriage.  He tells the driver where to go, speaking English in a terrible accent.  John’s accent is much better, he thinks.  English was the first words he learned from his first nanny.  Then Spanish from his second.  French from the maid in his mother’s house.  Though he never saw his mother, he knew of her.  Which is why he was so excited and careless today.  Today, he would finally meet her.

There’s a crowd of people outside a great building.  John must look up and up to see the top of it.  It’s the biggest church he’s ever seen, “Father Paul, its magnificent!”

The old man pats him on the head before pushing him out the carriage.  “Stay close and follow me, John.”  His words sound almost sticky in John’s ears but he abides his wishes and only speaks and thinks in English.  Even though he thinks Portuguese is beautiful, and they’re surrounded by people who can’t appreciate their ruse.  Passing by finely dressed people and columns of marble, John can’t help wandering a little.  Father Paul snatches him by the collar.  “I’m serious, you little gnat.  Stay close.”

John is pulled to a stop in front of an unmarked closed door.  He was thinking they would go inside the cathedral, and see the pews and alter.

Instead, he’s pushed inside a stone room that’s furnished with two seats, a chess set and harpsichord.  John looks up at Father Paul, curious about their surroundings.  “…Where is she?”

“Here, my love.”

A door on the opposite side opens and woman in a plain gown emerges, a porcelain doll mask on her face.  John frowns up at her but doesn’t say anything.  He’s too frighten.

The woman clears her throat and sits at the keyboard, “Do you play?”

He nods weakly, “A little.  I like drums more.  They are more fun and I can dance and dance!”

“You speak English very well.”

“Thank you.”

The woman pats the seat at her side, “Would you play with me?”

He nods, “Yes.  If you’d like it.”

“I’m glad to see you,” says the woman as they start to play, “You look strong and healthy.”

“Thank you, miss.”

He imagines she smiles behind the mask, “Do you know who I am?”

He shakes his head, “No, miss.”  He’s knows better than to act like he _knows_ anything.  So he lies.

“I am someone interested in keeping you safe.  Know that your father was a horrible man.  And he’s finally died.  So we can be together now.  Without his interfering.  But we must be careful.  Can you keep a secret, my love?”

He nods, knowing he can keep many secrets.  He’s whole life is a secret.  “Yes, miss.”

“Good,” says the woman.  And together they finish the first piece while Father Paul stands with his ear to the door, and a knife in his hand. 

* * *

 

 

Days go by, and John returns to the cathedral and the secret room.   He returns to the seat by the harpsichord, sits by the fine madam and plays for her. She is a serious tutor to him, striking his knuckles for wrong notes until he remembers and plays beautifully.  Every selection he learns and relearns are played exactly as she wants it.  Days go by quickly to young people, but according to Father Paul’s calendar its only been three weeks.  Three weeks and fourteen visits.  Three weeks and thirty-eight hours of practicing. 

John starts to look forward to it, waking up early one Sunday morning, excited to pass the churchgoers as Father Paul leads him into town.

But they don’t go to the cathedral.   The carriage takes them further away through the center of the city and out into the countryside.  John keeps silent, his curiosity piqued while his little heart worries.  He wants to ask, ‘What about the madam?  The beautiful madam and her music lessons?’

But he knows better than to voice this.  In his life, he’s learned its better to trust whichever adult is caring for him.  For however long it lasts.  He was hoping that meeting the beautiful Domina meant an end to his journey.  Perhaps he’ll even see her face.

 

* * *

 

They stop at the gates of a great house.  It’s so big, John wonders if it’s a palace.  He’s never seen one before, and has nothing to compare it too in his memory.

The noon day sun is high and hot.  John has to cover his eyes to walk in it.  Father Paul leads them to the gatekeeper and announces them as ‘Father Paul and the prodigy requested for the court.’

It’s not the first time John’s heard this.  Whenever he changed from hand to hand, there’s always a little show.  He’s given a different name and backstory.  He’s dressed like a doll and sat at a keyboard.  Sometimes he’s powdered and poofed and placed on a stage.  He hasn’t had to sing for anyone since France, thankfully.  He clears his throat, all the same. 

They’re taken down a beautiful avenue of trees, led by a stuffy butler to a garden.  There, some kind of party is underway.  Beautiful high-born people mingle.  The men and women in tall white wigs, white stockings, stiff silks and dripping with jewelry.  But they run around like they’re commoners not wearing heavy diamonds and emeralds.  They toss balls across the lawn, or sit at tables eating and drinking.  And in the middle of it all is a large tent.   John is pushed inside and introduced to an old man and two young women.  Neither of them sound like his lady in the mask.  Father Paul introduces him as John Purcell, a relative of the famous English maestro.  A few of the guests come inside and John sits down, dutifully playing the pieces his lady taught him. 

It goes over well, the crowd cheers and clap when he’s done.  Some of the old people pinch his cheeks and call him a prodigy.  John knows better than to leave Father Paul’s side.  A year ago, his old tutor gave him a frank and disturbing lecture about evil, old, and rich men.  They grow idle from not having to work and bored with their wives.  So some prefer young men and boys.  Even ones as small and young as him.  He was told never to disappear with anyone who wanted his attention at the recitals or salons.  When a sweaty man with a crooked wig tries to entice him with a cake, John knows better.  He grabs hold of Father Paul’s hand and hides behind his cassock.

Father Paul seems annoyed at first, but he tolerates it.  He even makes excuses to the guests, “He’s a little shy.  Being only six years old and burdened with such genius.”

John looks up at the lie, a little offended no one questions it.  He’s not _that_ short, he thinks.

A woman of the same size and shape of his tutor enters the tent, and everyone stops to bow and curtsy. 

John follows their example, and when he rises, he finds the woman kneeling before him.  She is so beautiful, John is dazzled and rendered speechless.  The woman kisses him on cheek and takes him by the hand.  “Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Purcell,” she says in English.  She turns to the other guests and speaks in Portuguese.  John makes out the words, ‘promising’, and ‘adopted.’  His little heart sings!  He had hoped this day would come.  Perhaps she’s not his real mother, but she seems to like him.  She knows his real family, which is more than he does.  He doesn’t understand her entire speech but the little crowd applauds.  Then a boy, even smaller than John storms into the tent.  He screams at the woman and takes up a ball, pointing it at John while another little boy stands off to the side.  He keeps screaming, and some instinct makes John want to protect her.  He stands in front of the Domina, trying to shield her from the boy’s screaming.

 The little boy roars in John’s face, pushes him back and clubs him in the head with the heavy ball.  He runs away crying.

John is laying on the grass, his head in the Domina’s lap while Father Paul calls out to him.

He closes his eyes, and hopes that he doesn’t die in his sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know Portuguese and my Spanish is so bad, so if anyone sees anything they want to correct from here on, please god help me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tells him a story about owing a debt to a noble figure. James listens, frowning all the while. It rings false in his ears. He wants to ask a million questions, but knowing John, there’s no rushing his tale. There’s no forcing his memory or putting any facts out of order. He’ll say what he wants to say, when he wants to say it. And for now, with the sun high and the house full of tired people, John is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *forgive me if it seems a little muddle but I want the line between John’s chapters and memory blurred with whatever he (makes up) tells Flint and Co. as the story goes.

John tells him a story about owing a debt to a noble figure.  James listens, frowning all the while.  It rings false in his ears.  He wants to ask a million questions, but knowing John, there’s no rushing his tale.  There’s no forcing his memory or putting any facts out of order.  He’ll say what he wants to say, when he wants to say it.  And for now, with the sun high and the house full of tired people, John is done.

He stands up with some difficulty, holds his hand out for James to help him.

It’s a blatant attempt at manipulation, bless his heart.  James takes his hand anyway.  “Couldn’t be any more subtle?”

“Aren’t we past that point?”  He leans heavily on James’s arm.  “I know it’s not an answer…”

“It’s a fucking bedtime story…”

“But,” says John.  “All bedtime stories have a point.  All fairy tales come with their warnings.  And I’m telling you this much. I learned the hard way that you can’t trust everyone.  And sometimes…. Sometimes just speaking the truth is enough to lose everything.  I need you to understand the enormity of this.”

“How can I with so small a glance?”  Damn propriety, thinks James.  He wraps an arm around John and kisses the top of his head, “You know I would protect you.  And Madi and little James.  …I will be his godfather, won’t I?”  He asks intending to lift the tension.

John laughs, “Cesar is his godfather.  But you and Thomas can have the honor with my next son.”

“Son?  It might be a girl.  I could have a goddaughter… what’s the feminine of James?”

“I can’t have two James.  She’ll have to be called after Thomas.  Or Israel.  Or Muldoon.”

“Muldoon?”  James stops, stricken by the thought of Muldoon as a baby girl.  He shakes he image out of his head.  “That’s an interesting pick.”

“He was kind to me.  And taught me to open my heart again, to the possibility of caring for someone other than myself.  I didn’t want anyone to take care of me.  And make me a Randall, the crew pet’s invalid… And he made me see it wasn’t like that.  And I miss him.”

James smiles at John, holds him tighter and takes him up to the house.  “My apologies, John.  I’d forgotten.  He was your friend and a good sailor besides.  I should be more respectful.”

“Aye, Captain,” says John with a sad smile.  “You should be.”

 

* * *

 

 

Inside the house, Thomas hasn’t relented his hold on baby James.  He’s rolling around on the floor, face grinning as the baby tries to catch him, stomping his little foot and ocassionally falling on his bottom.

Madi has moved to the dining room table and sits with her feet up in a chair and a book in her lap.  She gives them a long look before turning her page.  “I don’t mind visiting family and friends.”  She says coolly, “But I will not stay here while you run off, unprepared for whatever chases you.” 

John bends over, wordlessly grabbing one of the bags, and heading for the spare room.  He calls out when they can’t see him, “Don’t talk about me while out the room!”

Madi nods, “Come here.”  She reaches out to James, “Talk of John.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “He told me a story.  What of it is true, I can’t say.  But I gather… he made an enemy of someone young and powerful a long time ago.”  Of course, with a story like that, little John not Joao could be someone else or made up altogether.  James knows for a fact, John has no problem with repurposing someone’s else’s truth for his fictions.  “Are you all right?”

She sighs and puts the book up.  “I’m tired.  This little one isn’t like Jim.  He’s so disagreeable, I just want to lay down all the time.”  She shakes her head and rubs her belly, “I need to rest…”

James rushes to her side to help her up, “Of course.  And I’ll bring you some lunch to eat in bed.  We can have a whack at John together.”  He smiles as he walks her past Thomas and little Jim.  The baby calls out to his mother before screaming, finding Thomas perched behind the couch.

James wonders if this is possible.  So much _noise_ and _life_ in his house.  Thomas looking young and vibrant, Madi in his arms, and John safe nearby.  They reach the spare room, which has been Thomas’s office until now.  John cleared the bed of books and notes.  He put away Madi’s things and sits at the foot of the bed.  He looks up at them and rolls his eyes, “I can only imagine what you two have come up with, but I’m still leaving alone.  Tomorrow morning.  And that’s all that’ll be said on the matter.”  He stomps his metal shoe with an air of finality and stares them both down.  Because he’s Long John Silver, the King of Pirates.

It’s cute, thinks James.

“That’s nice dear,” says Madi.  She kisses James on the cheek, “May I have some tea, please?”

James nods and leads her to the bed, helps her up on the mattress.  He swats John on the thigh, urging him to move over while she puts her feet up.  John sighs getting up to fetch a pillow to put under her ankles before clunking back down.  “If you’re fetching things, I could use some water.”  He looks at James with big round eyes.

It makes his stomach twist, but it’s not unpleasant.  He’s happy to see them again.  Knowing they’re still together after everything gives him hope.  Maybe the future not gone and war not lost.  Maybe they will find another way to guide it.  All the same, he can’t smile at them and portray his good mood.  Instead he sneers at John and slaps his shoulder, “Don’t think I won’t spit in your cup.”  He walks out just as Madi starts laughing.

Thomas and little Jim have moved to the kitchen.  He’s propped the baby on counter and started feeding him bites of bread from their breakfast.  The baby claps his hands and coos. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen a happier baby,” says Thomas.  He gives little Jim a sip from his cup.  “And he’s so smart.  I think I he’s trying to talk.  He said ‘mama earlier.’  And water.”

“Guya!”

“See?” says Thomas smiling.  “He’s a man he knows what he wants.”

Flint grins at his partner while starts a kettle for Madi’s tea.  He fetches another cup for John’s water.  “I didn’t know you had such a soft spot for children.”

“We tried,” says Thomas.  He keeps his eyes on little Jim.  “We tried very hard at first.  But I don’t think Miranda could carry children.  The first year of our marriage was very hard.  We lost one.”

James knows this story, but it’s the first time Thomas has spoken of it.  Miranda told him years ago, mentioned a failed birth while weeding her garden like it was nothing.  He supposes he hadn’t thought much of it.  But seeing Tom now, glowing in the baby’s presence.  “If you want me to go and steal a baby, I will.”

Thomas laughs, “Pirate.”  He takes baby Jim up, sure he’s done eating, but he makes another plate.  “Aren’t they hungry?”

“And tired,” says James.  He slices some ham from their breakfast that morning, and steams some vegetables on the stove.  When the tea and lunch is ready, they all move back to the room.

John’s moved up beside his wife, and sleeps hard enough _not_ to hear them enter.

That’s worrisome.

Madi sees the look on his face and answers it, “He’s been up for three nights.  Keeping watch.  Pacing.  Like he thinks his own shadow is coming after him.”  She opens her arms and Thomas hands over little Jim.  The baby happily babbles while she sips her tea and eats.  “You say he thinks it’s about a debt to a rich man?”

“So he says.  In a way.  But he’s usually so…”

“Full of shit.”

Thomas looks at them both oddly before sitting near John’s foot.  “Strange.  And here I thought I had exclusive rights to finish your sentences.”

“I won’t challenge you to finish his anything, sir.”  Madi smirks over her teacup.  “If you want to see something really strange wait ‘til this one wakes up.  They can speak without speaking, and its almost an eerie sight to see it in person.  The men on the island said they shared the same mind.”

“Oh really,” says Thomas.  “And what else besides?  Nothing scandalous, I hope.”

Its suddenly becoming too warm in the little room.  There is a baby present, and a very pregnant young woman.  A former lord of a great house.  James feels his ears going red and gets up, retreating before they can embarrass him any further.  “I haven’t milked the cow yet, this morning.”

He pauses just outside the door, cringing when he hears it.  The two of them are laughing at his expense.  And he walked right into it like some blushing virgin.  He rolls his eyes and stomps away.  He hopes John wakes up and has to suffer some teasing for a while.  It’d serve him right.  Mixing two characters of their like and particular temperament.

The day passes and James keeps himself busy with chores.  He avoids the house whenever sees Thomas and Madi together. John sleeps the day away.  He doesn’t even stir for dinner.

James, Thomas, and Madi have a quiet evening.  They’re relaxed and comfortable in each other’s company.  Thomas falls asleep with little James in his lap on one end of the couch while James and Madi sit close on the other.  James takes care to look after Madi, she’s been unusually lethargic and this alarms him. She rests in arms, head on his shoulder and not minding when his hands sit and wait on her belly for some sign of life.  Things he’s heard of, but never experienced.  He has little basis to understand a woman’s health during pregnancy and says as much, “There’s a good doctor in town.  We can send for him tomorrow to check on you.”

She was dozing, when he spoke.  She looks up with a puzzled expression, “A man?  What do men know about pregnancy.  You can barely piss in a straight line.”  She gets up and takes baby Jimmy from Thomas.  Thomas stirs only to look up and smile sleepily at her before turning his head and dozing again.  Madi and James share a smile while he gets up to follow her to bed.

He doesn’t wait for orders, fetching warm water and a basin.  He helps her clean little Jim, fetches their heavy luggage, takes off John’s boot and spreads a good quilt on the bed.  John wakes up while the bed is being made.   He looks startled to see it already dark out, and sits up to strip out of his coat.  “What happened?”

James shrugs. The evening air is cooling down.  A good breeze blows through the window and he’s suddenly so tired.  Having everyone under the same roof has been the closest he’s ever come to find contentment.  He’s ready to leave the couple to their privacy.  John gets up from the bed stripping out of his pants and shirt as well.  He really dress fine to come see them, he’s wearing some of the whitest underclothes James has seen in a while.

Madi unwraps her hair and lets it down and starts to untie her dress.

James clears his throat, backing out of the little room, “Goodnight you two.  Sleep well.”

Madi frowns at him, “What sleep?  We haven’t had the truth out of this one yet.  Do you really think I’ll let him disappear on me in the morning?  I’m not that kind of woman.”  She gets her top off and starts on her skirts, in full view of James.

He looks away, but doesn’t leave.  “Then I’ll guard the door.”

John laughs, “As if you could keep me in.  Oh for the love of… Flint.  Look at me.”

He looks up, trying to ignore the sight of Madi, bare and unabashed, bathing by the bedside.  “I should go put Thomas to bed.”

“When I was last here, you invited me bed.”

James looks nervously to Madi.  But she only looks over her shoulder, before putting a gown over her head.  She joins her husband and child in the bed while James stands frozen in the doorway.  “I didn’t… That was Thomas.”

“And this is me,” says Madi.  “Come sit with us.  I won’t bite.” 

The bed’s not big enough for three adults, and James doesn’t like thinking of Thomas asleep on the couch with his neck at odd angles.  He waits out the couple while John makes himself more comfortable.  Little Jim falls to sleep suckling at his mother breast and John’s moves over to makes space for him.  So James goes with it, lying beside them in this intimate time.  Apart from the shoes he removed in the living room, he’s still fully dressed but he feels completely exposed.

John leans over to kiss his son on the head, pull the covers up and tuck his wife and child in.  He turns to James with an odd look on his face.

“What,” says James, cracking under the scrutiny. 

“I never thought I’d see the day.  I thought a time like this was lost, with that treasure and Rogers’s arrest.  I gave up on imagining it for myself.  Having the people I care about most, safe and under one roof.”

James nods, “I feel the same.  Living here should be like having my heart whole again, but if I’m perfectly honest, I feel what I was missing was braced and bandaged with new additions.  You and Madi are as much of the whole.  My dearest friends…”

John smiles softly and closes his claps James on the leg “Aye, Captain.  We’re your scabs.”

Madi huffs, “He missed it.”

James smirks as John looks between them, “Who missed what?”

James sighs and fills him in, “Us.  Thomas missed us sharing the same mind.”

John throws an arm around Madi, and the other around James.  “You know what our problem is…”

Madi raises brow, “You are devilment incarnate?”

John shakes his head and looks to James.

James feels heat rising to cheeks as answers, “We need a bigger bed.”

John leans over and kisses him full on the mouth.  Its quick, but couldn’t be mistaken for a friendly kiss either.  He grins, looking his old self.  “We need a bigger bed.”

Madi stretches her legs and turns on her side, putting little Jim down between them.  “This will do for now.  Do you think you can tell us a story, John Silver?  After you wash?”

John clears his throat, “I think you’re trying to tell me something” 

Madi removes his arm, “You’re a stinking pirate.”

James laughs, as John indignant look, “Well she’s not wrong.”

“I can finish a fairy tale,” He nudges James until there’s room to get up, disturbing their balance.  He walks with his crutch over to the table and basin.  He speaks, calmly and evenly while strips off his underdrawers and leans against the table, giving them a distracting view while he spins his tale.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The grand lady didn’t make John a prince.

She made him a court musician.  A prize pet that entertained her family and court officials.  John was shocked this included the King and the crown prince who tried to brain him.  He learns that his lady was actually the Queen herself.  John’s face was usually masked in powder, a thick white wig usually sat on his head.  Whenever he wasn’t performing he was studying or practicing.  John and Father Paul were given auspicious rooms. Though he had seen so much of the world, he’d never stayed in such opulent surroundings.  It was always nannies and maids in country houses or little churches and empty dormitories. 

Sometimes John feels like a prince.  He sees the beautiful lady every day for almost two years.  He eats rich food.  He learns chess from an old General.  The old man claims to know John’s father as well, and when John is not made up for the court the man comments, ‘A shame you have your father’s nose and coloring.’ Or ‘A shame you have those blue eyes.’  Somehow with this old, gnarled character, _his_ appearance is always a _shame_.  John starts to take particular care to hide it. Caking on powder and rouge and painting his lips.  It works with the courtesans.  They call him a doll and tell him he is the prettiest child in service to Her Majesty.  Even compared to the dwarfs and Castrati. 

John’s days are routine, he wakes up with Paul still sleeping in his room.  The man has his own room in their suite, but he stays in John’s every night.  His hand on his knife and always facing the door.  He helps John get ready for the day, they say their prayers and take breakfast alone.  Father Paul takes bites of all John’s dishes first, and leaves him ‘enough for a growing boy’, while John sourly waits.

Then they move out into the palace, where the court is milling about.  The courtesans gossiping, people eating, young men challenging each to duels.  Guards taking bribes.  Court entertainers, mingling with their patrons.  John is special, being patroned by Her Majesty.  He, or rather Father Paul by proxy, are given and offered favors all the time.  They ignore most of the politics and join some others when they listen to ugliest man John’s ever seen, speak.  He spills gossip of the whole court and everyone loves and hates him for it.  Sometimes his eyes linger on John, but Father Paul assures him, he’s too innocent to be caught up in their trivialities.

John doesn’t always understand at first, but he makes an effort to learn Portuguese and listens carefully whenever the adults are careless enough to talk of important matters.

It’s how he learns of man named da Silva Teles.

Two men, sweaty and poorly put together entered the court in a rush.  They came with news for the King, but one of them keeps his hand in his pocket.  John had been at the King’s side at the time, playing idly while he read up important documents.  He was old, and his wig was the biggest in the whole court.  And John liked him.  He can’t say he cares for the eldest prince, but the younger children are amicable.  He doesn’t get to play with them, but he sees them sometimes.  The youngest is a new baby girl, and John was learning a song, just for her.

“Sir, may we have some privacy in this regard?”  said one man while starring at John at the keyboard.

The king pats John’s hand, “My wife’s favorite pet is hardly a danger.  He’s an Englishman, and hardly cares for anything but music and food.”  With a laugh, he demonstrates, hand feeding John a grape from a bowl on top of harpsichord.  John doesn’t hesitant to eat and keeps playing, while the men talk and talk.

John replays the words to himself before he’s sent back to his rooms.

He remembers everything. 

He struggles over the decision to keep what he’s learned to himself.  Yet another secret from Father Paul and his mistress.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Father Paul wakes him with a rough shake.

“Wake up, Joao!”

John is slow to rouse.  It’s been so long since anyone called him by that name, he hardly thinks of it. It’s still dark outside and Father Paul is packing a bag of his clothes.  He rubs his eyes, “Father Paul?”

“Get up!  Now!”

John rushes to do as he’s told.  He’s not certain of what’s going on, but he has his suspicions.  The old general bursts into the room with his sword.  Its bloody and dripping on the floor.  “Get him back through the servant’s quarter.  Hide his face.”

John complies as Father Paul wraps his head with a scarf and lifts him up.  He’s hardly a small child anymore, gaining weight and a little height since he’s been in the palace.  John wraps his arms around Father Paul’s neck and keeps his eyes unblinking.  “Father?”

“Don’t ask questions, John.  Be quiet.”  The man huffs with effort, running through the halls.  “I have you.  It is going to be fine.  We will take little boat ride.”

John shakes his head, “I don’t want to leave.  The Neuberg Domina, she needs me.”

They round a corner, the sound of men marching through the halls is disturbing.  There’s a sudden scream from somewhere, shrill and high as a woman cries out, ‘My baby!”

Father Paul goes still long enough to listen.  They hear the more footsteps and whispers.  Servant women running through the corridors crying.  Shouting.  Father Paul lets John down just as a familiar maid runs into them.  She takes one look at John and starts to call out, but Father Paul lashes out.  The knife ever present and hidden in his cassock cuts her throat.  It’s the first time John has seen such violence.  He gags at the sight, but Father Paul yanks him by the hand pulls him out through a door.  They end up in a little herb garden and John is lifted again.  “Climb up these hedges and cut across the maze.  Keep going until you see a man in a green cloak. 

John tries to hold on, but he falls down on the other side of the thick shrubbery.  He can hear Father Paul.  “Padre!  I don’t know how to get over…,” he beats on the greenery trying to find a way back.  “Please come with me!”

“Go!  And be quiet!”

John slaps calls out, “Please, please!  Come with me!”

Father Paul’s hand finds a place to reach out and grab John by the wrist, “Go!”

“You there, Englishman!”

John is shoved and stands there listening to a scuffle on the other side.  He bends to look through the hole but a heavy hand grabs him by the shoulder.  John is pulled up onto a man’s shoulder.  He starts to resist, but the man is taking him away from sound of Father Paul’s screaming.  And his green cloak is soft and easy to cry in.

 

The man is much younger than Father Paul.  He has little patience for John, or perhaps children in general.  John makes up his mind early on, not to test him.  He’s good and quiet.  He follows every order.  They ride a horse for miles and miles, stopping to rest briefly in the countryside.  John cries before he goes to sleep and wakes up, back on the horse a few hours later.  The man never seems to care that’s he’s crying.

Until they reach the sea.

John is given a hard shake, “I am only going to tell you his once, so listen carefully.  For now on, you are an orphan.  No one, from nowhere.  Understand?”

John nods along.  It’s hardly an interesting story, telling the truth.  “Father Paul…”

“Is dead.  You’re only hope now is reach the home and live there until you reach majority. Never speak of your travels or your life at court.  You speak only English from now on.  You know nothing, you are simple, a clean slate.  Understand?”

John shakes his head this time.  Even fearing this man is not enough to make him forget, “The lady, my Queen.  My…”

“The Queen is dead.  She died yesterday and suspiciously enough a detractor sent word of your existance… how much did you know?”

John wipes his face. 

He could answer truthfully, but it could be a test.  He blows his nose with the end of his cloak and cries, “I don’t know anything.  I am no one.  I will never play music again.  And I will miss… miss them both.”  He bawls half hoping the man will drop this line of questioning while letting out his grief and tears. 

The man looks disgusted and hands him a handkerchief from his pocket, “Wipe your nose John None.”

John does so and follows the man to safe harbor.


	5. Chapter 5

John gives them a very provocative story about a betting parlor and a pair of beautiful women.  A jealous German woman and his own irresistible charms, a destroyed tavern, some sort of carriage chase…

Madi sleeps through it and Flint’s not far behind.

John dresses in clean underclothes and a loose shirt and circles back around to his side of the bed.  He extends his arm gesturing to where Flint is taking up most of the space. 

“Are you staying?”  Flint smirks, “I thought you had urgent business to take care of, and now your warden finally sleeping.”  Madi frowns in her sleep but doesn’t wake up.  She holds her baby closer rolls onto Flint’s shoulder.

John has a soft smile on all three of them.  “You can stay here.  I don’t mind one night on the floor if it means…”  He blinks away tears in his eyes and nods, “But actually I’m hungry.  I’ll just sneak as far as kitchen if you don’t mind.”

James sighs.  He tucks the quilt around Madi until she’s looks more comfortable on the pillows, pats baby James on the head and gets up to follow John.

John deviants from the kitchen, James follows him to the living room where Thomas still sleeps on one end.  An odd look crosses John’s face before he sits across from Thomas, perched at edge of the coffee table with crutch extended between them.  He sits there and stares at Thomas while the man softly snores.

“Do you think,” says John softly, “We could have had this?  If I told you before… If war was waged… Do you think any of this possible?”

“Do you think she’s satisfied?”  It’s not answer, but something James can’t dismiss from the equation.  He feels tied down and imprisoned on the farm, even with the love of his life by his side.  But he never imagined his heart breaking into so many pieces.  Those pieces coalesce to perfectly form John Silver and Madi Scott.  And even after a day of knowing him, a part of his heart breaks off for little James. 

“Do you think fighting for the sake of fighting would have saved us?  You’d have sacrificed everyone last one of us.  Even me…”

“Where are you going tomorrow?”

John sighs and sits back looking Thomas up and down, “I know him, you know.  I couldn’t remember at first, given time and age but I met him once in London a long, long time ago.  Just after my mother died.”

Thomas stirs in his sleep, as if sensing what James did.  That there was some bit of truth to that little omission.  Like a rainbow in the night sky.  “What was that?”

John shrugs, “I get around.  But don’t let it bother you.  I’m surprised he never mentioned it.”  John finally looks away from Thomas and smirks, “I hope he’s not ashamed of me.”

James eyes them both before shaking his head free of a number of filthy imaginings.  “I don’t have the time or inclination to follow that right now.  Just tell me what it is you’re planning.  Who you’re fighting against.  Let me help you, John.”

“And invite you back to the violence?  After giving you this?  Peace at long last.  What kind of friend would I be if you picked up the oar again?”

James rolls his eyes, “For starters, you’re a shit friend.  I hate fucking pecans.  The place is crawling with rats and squirrels and that damn cow kicks me every chance it gets.  For second, there’s nothing following you that I can’t handle.  No story I haven’t the stomach for.  So you might as well spill the truth and stop dancing around the issue.”  He points toward the bedroom, “That woman and those children deserve better.  And for some unfathomable reason, I have faith that you’ll own up and give them better.”

Thomas sinks in his seat, their rising voices rousing him from his sleep.  John leans over and pats him the leg, “Wake up, old man. You’ll hurt your neck that way.”

Thomas opens his eyes slowly and smiles at John.  “I know you.  Tiny peacock.”

“Aye.  But that’s hardly the here and now.”

James looks between them both, “What the fuck?  You actually know this criminal?”

“I’m wounded.  Called a criminal by a brother of the Account.  That hurts.  Truly.”

Thomas laughs while James stands there looking dumbfounded.  He sits up and stretches, rolls his neck and even after all this time, James can’t help being mesmerized.  But then the ‘tiny peacock’ preens as well.  Thomas makes a show of standing and stretching out a hand to help John up and James feels red, just watching the muscles of their forearms flex.  Let alone imagining some familiarity between… some time long in the past before he knew either of them… Actually, thinks James, that’s a terrifying prospect.

Thomas claps John on the shoulder once he’s up.  “There’s a plate for you, covered in the kitchen.  You can warm it up in the oven.”  He yawns and stretches, his long lean body peeking out from under his shirt.

James watches him walk off in the direction of their room, “Goodnight.”

Thomas blinks sleepily before leaving, “Goodnight, darling.  Don’t stay up too late.  It’ll be impossible to follow a rested man sneaking away in the morning, if you exhaust yourself.”  He grins at them both before leaving.

John quirks and eyebrow while staring after his form, “I think he suspects some impropriety on your part James.”

“Shut up, you little shit.”

John laughs and heads for the kitchen, “I bet your burning now for me finish that story about White Chapel.”

“I more intrigued about our odds tomorrow.  Wherever you’re going, I’m going with you.”

“And leave Madi and James here?”  John scoffs, “I didn’t come all this way to leave them unprotected.  I trust you to set fire to anyone who would so much as think a malicious thought in their direction.”

“I would,” shrugs James.  And he means it.  Honestly, he could think of a number creative ways to deal with an attack on the little house.  But he shouldn’t have to, is the point.  “What exactly am I to keep an eye out for?  When we receive little company out here and when we do its merchants or farmers.  Neighbors and the like.  Without knowing the threat to you, I can’t assess how best to defend them,” he leads, hoping John will give him something.

John rolls his eyes and turns his back to James while he moves he kitchen, fetching a cup and pouring a drink.  Tasting the food and deciding its warm enough to eat.  He sits at the table and spreads out, eating more mannerly than James is used to seeing.  John always impressed him by being so well spoken and calculating, but his table manners are borderline feral.  Or at least they used to be.  Perhaps Madi has tamed him into to fork-wielding gentleman.  He paces and chews with his mouth closed, drinks, and doesn’t speak until he’s finished.  “Fine work, Captain.  I’d almost forgotten how good a cook you were.”

James sits at the table and reaches over, a hand on John’s thigh and looking him in the eye.  “Let me help you, John.  Tell me enough to get by if you have to, but let me help you.”

John drops his fork and covers James’s hand with his own, “I wish I could.  A part of me wishes I could bury my own feelings, but I’ve not lived with my memories tied to my future, and my past… James it’s not a story I worry would shock or titillate.  It’s a story that hurts.  It’s a story that gets people killed.  So, I remember.  I remember everything of consequence, but I don’t dwell.  Not anymore.  I certainly don’t share.  …Not anymore.”

“What happened?” 

John looks away, picks up his fork again and scrapes at his plate.  “Nothing happened to anyone.  Nothing happened to me. I am Long John Silver.  And that’s all you need to know of me.  However, I’ll tell you this… If Jesuits, Jacobites, or men from Brazil or Portugal ever turn their eyes on this place… act swiftly.  Run.  Kill.  Whatever it takes.  Just don’t let them get hurt.”

“All this because of your debt?”

“Yes of course,” says John with a tight smile.  “Why’d you think I was so desperate for the Urca gold?”

James narrows his eyes, “And would paying this bet erase your danger?  What if I offer it right now?  We can leave in the morning, go straight to the island and dig it up.  I’d give it to you for this.”

John eyes shift around the room, “No.  Leave it in the ground.  It’s far too late.”

“How much do you owe,” presses James.  “I could raise it.  Let me loose, John.  I’d steal it, if I have to.”

John clenches his jaw and finally looks back at James, “It’s not about money, you ass.”

“I know,” smirks James.  “Tell me where we’re going tomorrow.  Because no matter what you say, I’m not letting you go alone.  Madi is strong.  Thomas is strong.  They’ll be fine here in the interim.  If there is a threat—“

“There is!  And if it followed me to the Maroon island, it can damn well reach Savannah!”

“All the better to deal with it directly.  And to start with, I will need the truth.  Tell me John.  What happened?  Who threatens you so?”

John slams a hand on the table, “Fuck you.”

James doesn’t need this to be a problem.  If they were going to fight about anything, it could be the myriad of issues never answered for, never repaid or solved.  Not this.  “I love you.”

John gasps and looks up at him. 

James leans in and kisses his forehead, just as he did that first time.  “I love you.  Tell me what you need, John.”

John breaks, sobbing into his palm before falling forward, head on his arms.  “I can’t.  I can’t.  I am no one.  From nowhere.  I know nothing… I am nothing…”

“And little James?”

John sits up frowning, “What about him?”

“Am I to believed that bright, beautiful little boy is nothing too?  I was only a carpenter’s son in the eyes of men for a long, long time.  What horrors will your son have to commit to come out from the shadow of being nothing from nowhere?  How low—“

“Shut up!”  John shoves James in the chest.  “Don’t you dare talk about my son like that!  He’s going… he will be something.  He is everything.  My children will be whatever they want in a world that’s free.  I will make it for them, whatever it takes!”

“Ah,” says James.  He wraps his hand around the fingers clawing his shirt and pulls John loose.  He pulls the hand up to his face and kisses the rings on each knuckle.  “Well I can swear allegiance to that.  Not to Long John Silver, or Mr. Nothing from Nowhere.  But the Father of Something and Everything.”  He smiles softly, “That’s a title to follow for glory.”

John pulls his hands away and leans forward, surprising James with a deep kiss. He pulls away and whispers against his lips, “I would have paid every last coin of my share for peace, James.  Every last cent for a future of security and peace.  No more blood or mobs or murder.  I just wanted to disappear far away with no struggle or wages or hunger.  I wanted…  I want…”

“Tell me one true thing, John. And stop running from those that would help you.”  He kisses John back, moves his hands to cradle his dark curly head.  “Talk to me John.  Even it’s mostly bullshit.  But don’t shut me out.  Please.”

John covers his face with his hands, drags them down slow and takes a deep breath.


	6. Chapter 6

The man that rescued him was not in his life for long.  He shared a hammock with John as they took passage on a merchant.  He was kind enough not to sell John to anyone that asked for him.  He made sure John was fed and clean until they landed.  John stood over the side of the ship looking at the city of London and sighed, “I hate this place.  It stinks.”

The man had yanked John by the hand and dragged him down dark streets and muck covered alleys.  They stopped in front in an unmarked door and the man covered John in his green cloak. “Stay here and stay quiet.  I will not see you again.  Remember to keep your head down.  Don’t wander off with just anyone.  And listen, if someone asks, you are for the tailor.  You measure twenty-nine, twenty-two.”

John frowned up at the man, “That doesn’t make any sense.  What part of me…”

The man had ignored him and walked away, leaving John just as a storm broke. 

John resigned himself to keep put and hid in the doorway, the cloak did little to shelter him from the pelting rain.  After having a such a long and trying voyage, John was tired, and he fell asleep, huddled on the muddy doorstep.

* * *

 

John runs from the doorway.  The street is loud and crowded.  It’s hard to keep track of where he’s been and where he’s going.  He turns back, checking that the grotesque old man is gone before taking his place in front of the door.  He crosses his arms before himself and tries to get warm.

He’s just had the thought to take off the cloak when the door opens.  A different man stands there with a handful of pamphlets.  He looks down at John and curses, “Fuck!  Fucking Fuck!”

John backs away not wanting to be hit again.  He starts to run away, but the man grabs him by the collar and drags him into the house.  John is terrified.  He thrashes and tries to call out but the man is quick to cover his mouth and slam the door.

John tries to kick his way free but the man’s grip is too strong, “Hush now.  Who are you here for boy?  Answer me!”

John stops and tries to calm himself.  He looks around the room, there are racks of fabric and sheets of paper.  Stacks of books and pamphlets everywhere.  John looks back at the man, he’s tall and broad-shouldered, young with curly blonde hair, and dressed finely, despite his ink-stained hands.  John closes his eyes and remembers; his life is a transient one and he must trust those who try take care of him.  “I am for the tailor sir.”

The man backs away with a soft smile, “And what do you measure?”

John tries to stand up straight despite freezing, “Tw--- twenty-nine and twenty… um…”

“Two.”

“Yes,” nods John.

The man grins and reaches out and ruffles John’s head.  “I’m sure we can find something to fit you.  John, is it?”

He nods, “Yes, sir.”

“Hungry?”

John nods every ounce of enthusiasm he can muster.

* * *

 

John learns that the man is called Alton.  He seems far more tolerant of children than the man who rescued him.  But the other man in the house who he calls ‘Brother’ seems to hate John. 

John is quiet for his stay with them.  The old man is a cantankerous tailor and Alton is a pamphleteer.  John is given food and measured for new clothes. And a very stern haircut.  John was sad to look in the mirror and not recognize himself.  Brother laughs at him, “Vanity!  Piggish vanity from a wretched little heretic!”

John almost snaps at the man.  He’s been calling him names for the last two days and John has to bite his cheek not to call him out.  Knowing what he knows.  What he’s seen.  The first night and last night, when kind and gentle Alton let the grotesque man bugger him but a few feet away from John was supposed to be sleeping.  But Alton doesn’t deserve that, so he keeps his mouth shut and tolerates the abuse.

Alton sweeps up curls on the floor and smiles down at John.  “I think it’s a fine fit, little master.  You’ve a lovely countenance when not hidden behind all this distraction.”  He bins the hair like it’s nothing and John’s stomach cramps at the sight.  He sighs thinking of the days when women cooed over him and called him pretty.  He feels rather wretched after being shorn like a sheep.  Alton pats him on the shoulder, “Don’t worry.  It’ll grow back, but this is best for now.  We can move you up to the minister with no problem.”

“The minister…”  John heard this said twice now.  “You’re not keeping me?”

Alton goes soft around the eyes and kneels down to cup John by the chin.  “Oh pretty, little master.  I’m afraid not.  I will keep watch on you.  Check on you in the years after, but I can’t keep you.  It’s too dangerous.”  He stands up and moves to one of his stacks of papers, “I’ve made up your records.  They look good and official.  You are John Mercer and your home burned, your mother and father died.  You’ll be given a bed and a fine education with the minister.  I understand you lived with a priest before.”

John nods, “All my life, a priest or a nun has educated me.”  He’s hesitant to say anymore, should the man know even less than he does, and reveals something.

Alton grabs a pen and a blank paper, “I’ll note that.  You read and write?”

“Yes sir, of course.”

“And you’ve read the bible?  Front to cover?  Accepted Christ as your lord and savior?”

John eyes shift from side to side, he answers smoothly.  “Of course,” while thinking he spent years believing the stories he was told were at first very real, but now he’s almost twelve and lumps them together with wizards and witches and fantastical things.  Father Paul made him pray, but he never did it on his own.  John knows enough to recognize this is not just a religious house, but a house of zealots and pamphleteers.  There’s nothing worst, than admitting be the opposition.  He might get very scornful letter.  Or be murdered on the wrong side of a pamphlet war.

Alton pats him on the head, “Then we will make fine use of you yet, little master.”

* * *

 

John spends a few more days and nights with the odd couple.  He stuffs cotton in his ears before going to bed, he keeps himself quiet when Brother calls him a wretched little anything.

And by the end of week, he’s almost grown used to his hair.

Alton is so careful and kind, John almost wishes he could stay.  On his last day, he’s given a kiss on the cheek and a sheet of paper.  “Follow the map and ask for the Minister.  We can’t be seen with you but be careful.  Keep your belongings close and don’t stray from the street.  Talk to no one.”

John nods and makes an effort not to cry.  He walks out of the odd house into the streets.

The crush of people is overwhelming.  The stink of fish and human excrement is loud.  John walks the path laid out for him in the map.  Turns and steps, excuses himself he when bumps into someone.  He feels as though he’s been walking all day, but the sun has barely moved in the sky.  He makes it to the ‘x’ and finds himself at an intersection.  People pass him, uninterested, unseeing.  He feels almost invisible.  Until one woman with a piece of paper taps on his shoulder.   She looks like a scullery maid, speaks commonly, “Is you the little master, sir?”

John adjusts his bag and straightens up.  Only Alton has ever called him such a thing.  He clears his throat.  “I am John Mercer.  I am looking for the Minister.”  He scans the crowd around expecting a clergyman.

“Minister is looking for boy called John.  I ‘pose you’re ‘im.”  The young woman grabs him by the hand drags him to a little donkey, “Come along, child.  We can’t be late.  It’s bad manners.”

John struggles to climb up on the donkey and the woman has to help him.  She climbs on behind him and clicks her tongue.  This is the strangest transition he’s ever lived through.  Normally there’s papers and money.  Sometimes, there’s goodbyes and parties.  But there’s ceremony for him this time and John gets a sinking feeling that his life of careful protection is over. 

The ride out of the city, John doesn’t recognize the road they take.  “Are we going to a church?”

“No,” says the woman. 

“Are we going to a house?”

“Of a sort,” answers the woman.  “I’m called Ms. Jemma.  I serve the house and the boys who live there.  Your new brothers of a kind.  They’re some mean little brats,” she covers her mouth.  “I mean, they are well-stationed sort.  Like you, little master.”

John looks up at her with a soft smile, “I don’t get it.  I’m hardly a mean little brat.  Or well-stationed.  And you seem like a lovely person, Miss.  I would not tolerate anyone treating you meanly. So I’d hardly call them brothers.”

Ms Jemma laughs and pats him on the belly where she holds him close, “You sound like charmer!  I know all about those.  I think the Missus is going to like you.  And the scamps in the house aren’t so bad.  Not as politically minded as the Lord Minister.  Not as stern as the Missus.  So you won’t be a problem for me, little master?”

“No,” answers John.  The sinking feeling he had alleviates while he’s safe and warm in her arms.

 

And an hour after that, John is faced with such coldness and severity, he imagines he’ll never see sunlight again.

* * *

 

John is put in a room and told not to leave without the lord Minister’s permission.

He’s stuck in the room for almost ten days, seeing only Ms. Jemma and hearing her apologies for all the delays.  The Lord Minister is very late, and John finds it very rude.  His fine clothes are taken, and he’s given simple black clothes.  Ms. Jemma explains that the Lord Minister is a very conservative man.

John is picking through his breakfast one morning when the door opens.  He stands up, expecting Ms. Jemma and finding a sunburned man with stringy, blonde hair, dressed in a loose white shirt and dirty breeches.  He yanks John by the ear and drags out him of the room. 

“Sir, please!” screams John.

“Quiet!”  The man doesn’t stop pulling John down the stairs.  John struggles to keep up with the man’s strides and stumbles over his own feet.  Every time he does so, he’s yanked harder.  Until the reach the last few steps and he’s flung down to the floor.  John falls hard on his arm with a loud a crack.

He screams and scrambles to back away, holding his arm.  He gets as far as the hall door and cries while looking up at his attacker.

The man sneers at him, “What is your name?”

“John Mercer… or whatever you want it to be.” John changed names before.  He never had to be _beaten_ to change it.  “I am no one from nowhere.  Hardly worth all the trouble of this kind of… exercise, sir.”  He says carefully.  He doesn’t want to provoke pointing out his injury, but he holds his arm close and tries to hold in his tears.

“John is such a common name.”  The man steps forward, stopping only a few steps away.  “No one here will call you that.  Answer to Jack Back from now on.”

John frowns at the name.  “Sir?”  The man looms and Johns nods, scrambling to get up to his feet.  At least then he can run.  “Aye, sir.  Understood.  I am Jack Back.  All you need do is instruct me sir, I am yours to mold as you choose.”  He frowns at his own wording but it’s too late to go back.

The man sneers at him, coming closer with a raised hand.  “Let me see that arm, Jack Back.”

John nods, trying to place the man’s accent.  Scottish perhaps?  He gingerly offers his arm up for inspection and gets his first good look at it as well.  His arm is yanked again and his sleeve rolled up.  His right arm is swollen and purple where it meets his wrist.  “It’s fine, sir,” lies John.  “I’m sorry I got in your way.”

The man clicks his tongue and calls out, “Bran!”

Three boys come running in the room, dressed like him in black clothes.  But like the Lord Minister, they’re covered in dirt and wild looking.  John is pushed over to them and he stares at their red, freckled faces.

“That’s a Jack Back for you.  Take him out to the stalls and put him to work.”

The boys are just as rough as the Lord Minister and John is embarrassed to think he hasn’t gathered any facts in this house.  He does at they tell him, ignoring their jibes while trying to muck and scrub with one arm.  By the time the sun sets, he’s just as filthy as the other men in the house.  He’s lead back to the house through the kitchen. 

Jemma fusses over him, “Young John!  What’s happened to your arm!”

The tallest boy pinches her hard on the ass and pushes her towards he open fire while the other boys laugh.  When she recovers and stands upright, the second boy strikes her across the face.

John starts to get up to put himself between her and them, but the youngest boy grabs his shoulder and leads him to the hearth.  “Sit down!”  He turns to poor Jemma, “This is our Jack Back, now.  Father says he’s indentured.  Eight year contract.”

“Nine!”

“Ten!” calls the other brother.

Jemma frowns at them while John stares dumbfounded.  This is the first he’s heard of it.  “I am…”

“No one,” says the eldest.  “And you owe us your life.  Be grateful we don’t stock you or turn you in for the money.”

John wants to ask, but he knows better.  Let people spill whatever they want, and they get used to it.  Especially if they think it’s of no consequence.  Instead John rubs his arm and stands up, “I apologize, young master.”  He gets three satisfied smiles for his trouble.  “I will try my hardest not to disappoint you again.”  He avoids looking at Jemma, not wanting the attention back on her.

She stirs a pot of stew and serves it quickly, leaving John hungryin the corner, per their instructions.  The boys grin, leaving them with a mess on the table.  The youngest shoves John, despite being shorter.  John resists sticking his tongue out.

“Oh sweet boy, I didn’t know!” 

John turns to find Jemma rushing over and checking his arm.  “Its fine, miss.”

“Don’t lie to me. It’s terrible!  I didn’t know!  Those official documents, sir, did they really sell you.”

John narrows his eyes, “No.”  He can’t give much away, but he likes having at least one ally.  She leads him to the table and plates him some stew over rice.  John is quick to eat it, “I’m supposed to be at a school for,” he looks around the room and lowers his voice, “…protection.”

Jemma’s eyes go wide and round, “I knew it!  You too well spoke to be a debtor.  I can’t let them just hurt you.  I should turn ‘im to authorities.  The other lords won’t let something like this stand.  What is your station, sir?  Have you been kidnapped?”

John shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter now.”  He wipes his nose with his sleeve, “I am Jack Back and I have to do as they say.  It’s no use bringing yourself into it.  I’m sure they’ll only punish you, miss.  I couldn’t stand that weighing on my conscious.”

Jemma looks torn between accepting his words and running out the door and back to London for a lawman. 

John turns back to his meal, “Don’t worry yourself, Ms. Jemma.  I won’t be here long.”

 

* * *

 

 

John heads back to his room that night, not sure he believes his own words.  If this is where the chain of guardianship ends, then he’s in a great deal of trouble.  Unless he can convince them, he’s worth more in one piece.  He tends to his own arm and sleeps on his side, prepares his mind for another day of surprises.

And finds his body ill-prepared in the long run.  Day after day. Week after week.  Nothing he does is right in their eyes.  He doesn’t eat the full portions at meal time, and is only allowed dinner.  He’s small enough for the boys to shove around.  And so unimportant and worthless, that the Lord Minister never gives him a name or place.  He learns from Ms. Jemma that the man is called Stuart, and his bratty children are nephews not sons.  Stuart’s wife is a sickly woman, and spends all her time in bed.  John sees her on the rare occasion she comes out to instruct Jemma or yell at the boys.  She ignores John whenever he’s in the same room.  And the boys torment him with every free minute they have.

John is covered in dirt, bruises, and aches. His broken arm healed but it was very, very painful.  It aches, even months afterwards, but John works through it.

Then one day, the lady of the house comes up to his room, throws a book on his bed.  “Do you read?”

John is unsure how to play it, having little to no interaction with the woman.  “Aye, madam.”  He picks up the book and cocks his head, finding the title in Spanish.  “…But this.”

“My husband’s journal from his time abroad.  I can’t read any of it.  But you’re an educated boy.  I can tell by the way you hold yourself.  The way you burn in the sun and bleed when you’re put to work. You were soft.  Nothing like those half-minded idiot relations of his downstairs.”

John picks up the book cautiously, remembering Father Paul’s words.

“I can’t read this madam,” he says with a shake of his head.  He looks up at her carefully, “To do so would betray the Lord Minister’s trust.”

Lady Stuart balks, “Trust?  That treacherous, devil-riding whore is the least trustworthy thing on this whole sticking island.  And you, you little poppet, are going to read this to me.  Now.”

John sighs before picking up the book, “The Journey East”

Lady Stuart sits down the bed, “Read it to me.”

John does as he’s told.  Many pages are torn out and written on.  Copied in different hands.  John commits it to memory and the Lady only stops when she hears the horses outside.  Lord Stuart is back, and is boys are being raucous just under John’s window. 

Lady Stuart grabs the book and rushes to the door, “You tell anyone about this?”

“About what, madam?  Thank you for checking on my arm.  I very much appreciate your concern.”

A strange look passes her face before she accepts his silence and runs off.

“JACK BACK!”

John rolls his eyes, wondering what menial task he’ll be put to today.  Yesterday he cleaned the hearth and fireplace for Jemma while she gardened.  The day before he was with tasked with digging weeds up with his bare hands.  His fingers are covered in cuts and scratches.  He walks slowly and tiredly down the stairs to get his new and orders and is surprised to see a friendly face after all this time. 

“Alton!”

“Master John!”  He rushes over and picks John up, swings him in his arms before they crash to the floor. 

John laughs and wraps his arms around the man’s neck. “I missed you!”

Alton kisses the top of his head, “And I missed you, little master.”  He pulls away to take a good look at John and freezes, face fallen and grey.  He turns to the Lord Minister with a disgusted look, “What have done to him?”

John stands up straight, and wonders what Alton sees.  Perhaps he’s lost a little weight and is far dirtier than he’s used to being.  A few marks visible on is arms and neck.  But the other boys aren’t much better.  John excuses the Lord Minister, “Its fine Alton.  Its just fresh air and exercise.  The Lord Minister is right thinking it makes me stronger.

The man sneers at John while Alton works himself into a fury.  “This,” says Alton pointing at the Minister, “Is not what we agreed upon.  He should be studying.  His future is already bought and paid and for and I won’t tolerate this abuse of our asset.”  He marches up to the Lord Minister is a brazen manner, “If you don’t want word of this to spread to the others, Stuart, you’ll straighten up.  Or I’ll take him and your payment away from here.”

Stuart bristles and orders his boys to leave the room.  He holds out a hand, “It’s as the lad said.  Just fresh air and exercise.  Right boy?  He’s been treated like a baby for too long.  You’ll have a doll and sodomite on your hands and then where will we be, hm?”  He snaps his fingers and John looks cautiously to Alton, “Come here!”

Alton grabs John by the collar, “No!  Go to your room.  Stuart and I have very serious business to discuss.  Go upstairs and pack your things.”

John tries not to show how relieved he is to hear that, he climbs the stairs back up to his room and hurries to pack his few things.  He goes to the door listens for any sign that Alton is coming up.  He wonders if they will take Jemma as well…

The time passes slowly, and John is left alone in the dark room.  He worries about what’s come to pass.  He hears the boys running through the halls.  Jemma sweeping outside door, but she never knocks or tries to come in.

The sun sets and John sits slumped against the door, dozing with ear to it.

When it finally opens, he looks up smiling, “Alton!”

He finds Lord Stuart standing over him, his shirt stained red his queue of hair pulled loose.  “Mr. Alton has taken leave.  I’m afraid you’re staying.  Another eight or nine years.  You’ll be my Jack Back, pretty boy.”  He reaches out and tilt’s John’s head up.  “You’re not going anywhere.”


End file.
